


God, I wish I could love you

by Graysworks



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 17:17:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graysworks/pseuds/Graysworks
Summary: Five times an injured Tim shows up at Jason's apartment, and one time the situation is reversed.





	God, I wish I could love you

**Author's Note:**

> Whooboy let's just ignore the horribleness that was yesterday. I'm happier with this fic, even though I still kind of hate it. Oh wells.
> 
> Title is from Fragile by Gnash ft. Wrenn
> 
> This fic is more put together than the last but.. it's still a little all over the place. Also there's a slight gore (?) warning. Like, injuries and blood are described, so... be careful if you don't like that kind of thing.
> 
> Tumblr: (I take requests so hmu) https://hazelnatcoffee.tumblr.com/

Jason smells Tim before he sees him.

Okay, that sounds weird. Rather, he smells the disinfectant and _blood_ before he sees him. He knows it’s Tim because he’s the only one stupid enough to show up in Jason’s apartment, at least these days. Even so, it doesn’t happen often, so he’s forced to hide his surprise.

“I brought food,” Tim calls out from the couch, not looking up from where he’s stitching a gash in his arm.

Jason shakes his head and eyes the greasy bag on the counter. “You know me so well.” He decides to ignore it for now -he’d already grabbed dinner (breakfast?) on the way back.

Tim exhales as he pushes the hooked needle through his skin again. “How’d patrol go?”

“The usual, I guess.” Jason answers, setting his bag down so he can move past the kitchen and into the small living area. “Taking down bad guys, kicking ass and all that.” He stops at the couch and sits down, taking the tools from Tim’s hands to finish patching him up. The _thank you_ he receives is quiet and a little pained.

Tim doesn’t say anything else as Jason works, eyes skating over the other wounds occasionally. None of the rest need stitches, but they definitely don’t look good. It’s like Tim got into a fight with a wild animal.

“You run into a bear or something?” Jason asks, almost genuinely curious.

“Guy had a cyberkinetic arm,” Tim explains wearily. “With claws.”

He almost laughs until he checks Tim’s back, wondering if there are any lacerations there and _oh_ that’s not good.

There are lines down his shoulder blades, deep red and ugly and criss-crossing in a way that makes Jason’s own skin tingle unpleasantly. He sucks in a breath at the amount of _blood_ and it suddenly makes sense why he could smell it before. “Christ, Tim…”

“I couldn’t reach,” The younger man says feebly, like it’s not obvious.

Jason has to say _something_ , because he’s not going to sit there and stare, so he finishes up the arm stitches and mutters, “Do I even want to fucking know?”

“He had backup,” Tim explains. “There were too many of them.”

“How the hell did you get _out_?”

“With my feet.”

Jason has half a mind to punch him, but he opts instead to get up and find a rag. He needs to restock his med kit.

Tim stays where he is, tending to the wounds on his chest -not like he wants to move anyway- and keeps quiet, though Jason thinks he hears another long exhale and maybe a curse. He returns with a damp washcloth and a small bucket, gauging the least painful way to proceed.

It seems like an hour passes while he cleans up the torn skin, gritting his teeth at the split muscle underneath. He’s not usually squeamish, but there’s something so _wrong_ about seeing Tim like this, with inch-deep grooves in his back, hissing out more curses every few minutes. Who the hell even goes around _carrying_ a whip, much less _using_ it?

He’s got more questions than answers when he finally finishes the job, plastering bandages over Tim’s back. “So, real answer this time. How did you get out?”

“I negotiated. Well, blackmailed, but.”

Jason cracks a smile at that, absently thumbing over a scar on Tim’s shoulder. “A man after my own heart. You could’ve called for backup, you know.”

“And you’d come running? Right.” Tim jabs, but it’s more light hearted than anything.

“Maybe,” Jason shrugs. “I’m not as cold blooded as everyone thinks.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Sure.”

They lapse into silence that Jason hesitates to call comfortable, but it’s less strained than he imagined. Tim is tolerable, and also snarky enough to be a match with Jason, so for the most part, they get along. It helps that the position’s been reversed a few times- so Jason’s a little more liberal with who owes who and when they’ll trade favors.

“You take any painkiller?” He asks, rifling through the med kit just in case.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Tim murmurs, pushing him back to lean over and grab a water bottle. “I’m sorry for not giving you a heads up.”

And yeah, usually that would irk Jason, but he figures he should cut Tim a break. He’s gone through enough grief tonight, probably. “Whatever. Just remember that, next time I show up at your place unannounced.”

“Yeah,” Tim graces him with a half smile, and then pulls his shirt on before standing up. He takes a minute to roll back his shoulders and only grimaces a little, then brushes past Jason to cross the small apartment. “I’ll leave you in peace now.”

“Don’t wanna look at my ugly mug anymore?” Jason calls back, starting to pull off his own armor.

He glances over his shoulder before he can vanish through the door. “God, no.”

His tone is so deadpan that it startles a laugh out of Jason. “My apologies, _princess_ ,”

Tim flashes him a rare grin, and it feels like a victory when he closes the door.

 

“Again?” Jason asks, slipping his bag off his shoulder. “That’s the second time this week, kid.”

“I’m aware,” Tim snaps, and huh. He’s _angry_.

Jason watches him struggle to tear open a disinfectant wipe pack, then give up and reach for the rubbing alcohol. He steps forward in alarm, reaching out to stop him. “Jesus, Tim! Just give it here,” The package is in his hands and he has to pull off his gloves before opening it. “What’s gotten your knickers in a twist?”

Tim glares at him for the stupid metaphor, but accepts the offered package without a huff. “The guy I’m trying to take in, he got the jump on me again.”

“Oh, the Edward Elric guy?” Jason clarifies, then receives a confused look. “It’s from a- ah, nevermind. Cyberkinetic guy.”

“Yeah,” Tim grumbles, wiping up some blood on his outstretched leg, which is partially resting on the coffee table. Jason almost scolds him, then remembers that he’s guilty of doing the same thing most nights.

“I thought you sorted that out. Blackmailed them, and everything.”

“I wasn’t going to just leave them on the streets, Jason.” He answers, glancing up when the older man sits beside him. “They’re running fight clubs underground, luring in teenagers. I have to keep trying.”

“So use the dirt you’ve got on them,” Jason suggests. “Go to the police or something, I don’t know. They’ve got the numbers.”

“They’re _involved_ ,” Tim explains, sounding exasperated. “A few precincts, at least. City would turn a blind eye to preserve reputation.”

“Ugh,” Jason closes his eyes and tips his head back against the couch. “That’s messy, kid.”

“Yeah, well. So am I, now.” He gestures down at his scratched up legs, shaking his head in frustration. He’s biting his lip.

Jason wonders why he notices, but brushes the thought away. “You know, if you ever need a sniper…”

“I will call you, yeah, okay.” Tim rolls his eyes, though they’re still focused on his leg. “But I’m never going to need a sniper, so,” Here his lips quirk up in amusement. “Also, there’s more tactful ways to ask for my number, Jason.”

The other vigilante is surprised enough to laugh. “Damn, kid. Tell me what you really think.”

“I think you’re not beyond hitting on me, so I’m beating you to it this time.” Tim sounds much too satisfied for Jason’s liking, so he leans closer to him.

“Fine, then. The game is on, Timmers.”

 

Jason doesn’t see much of Tim after that night, at least for a couple weeks. He checks in on him, strictly out of curiosity, and finds out that he’s wrapped up the case by employing some Titans’ help. They brought the media’s attention onto it, which caused the city to finally set the corrupt precincts straight.

 _Smart kid_ , Jason thought, after hearing that. _Probably fine on his own now._

So it’s a (pleasant) surprise when Tim shows up in his apartment again. Jason’s been moving around the kitchen for the past thirty minutes, trying to wind down from patrol by cooking- which is working quite well, actually.

The window to the fire escape rattles a little and then opens, and Red Robin slips inside like Jason’s got no security on the place. (He does, but Tim’s probably able to disarm it in seconds) Jason hides his grin and takes the pasta off the stove. “Long time, no see, kid. What’s new?”

“Not much,” Tim answers, sounding a little breathless as he moves across the living area.

“You okay there? I know hanging out with me is exciting, but try to-”

_Crash!_

Jason jerks his head up just as Tim slumps to the ground, the side table going down with him. “The fuck is-” He rounds the counter in seconds before collapsing next to him, trying to assess the damage. “Bullet? Toxin, venom, what?”

“Foot,” Tim manages, face going tight with pain when Jason rolls him over onto his back. “ _Shit_ ,”

Jason has to agree when he stretches out Tim’s leg. His left boot and sock are missing, and his bare foot and part of his calf are blistered an angry red. “Acid?”

“Of a sort,” Tim answers, his head thumping onto the floor. “Got some in my shoe after evacuating a lab. The fire busted a container. Stupid…”

“I’m gonna get you to the couch, okay?” The older man says, getting his arms under Tim to pick him up. “Hold tight.”

Another hiss escapes Tim as his foot is dragged across the floor briefly, but then he’s in the air and grabbing onto Jason like he’ll drop him. He doesn’t- just moves him over to the futon and sets him down again.

The burns are pretty bad, at least second-degree. “That’s gonna be fun to walk on tomorrow,” Jason mutters, reaching for the med kit which he’d left on the table. “How the fuck did you even get _here_?”

Tim takes the pills Jason offers and grimaces again when he swallows them dry. “Lots of grappling. And limping.”

“Bet that was a sight,” Jason finds burn ointment and gauze, and gets to work. He’s not about to have the kid doing toe touches just to patch up his foot.

They talk a little more, and Tim sinks back against the metal arm of the futon, which can’t be comfortable, but his leg is in Jason’s lap so it’s the only thing he can do. Jason wonders if he would stay the night, if he asked.

Eventually the burns are wrapped up neatly, and Tim’s head is dropping every now and then.

“You okay there?” Jason asks him for the second time that night.

“Yeah, I… it’s been a long week.” He answers, then laughs quietly. “A long _month_ , I guess.” His exhale is long and gentle, and he stares at Jason’s hand on his ankle for a minute, seeming lost in thought.

Jason keeps his voice low, as if raising it to normal volume will scare Tim away. “You want to crash here tonight?”

He raises his blue eyes, a splash of color on his pale face. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” Jason confirms, patting his leg before moving to get up.

“You don’t have to…” Tim starts, then stops. “Sorry. Nevermind.”

The older man pauses at the edge of the couch, finding Tim’s eyes closed again when he looks back. Half of him wants to know what he wanted to say -no, fuck that, _all_ of him wants to know what he wanted to say- but it’s late and they’re both too tired for this right now. So he doesn’t push, and instead gets up to find blankets.

The floor is hard near the couch, but Tim’s hand slips down to his while he sleeps, and Jason wonders if it’s really as bad as he thought.

 

By the fourth time it happens, Jason’s fresh out of a nightmare and lashing out at anything that moves- namely Tim, who’d let himself in after being injured again.

He slows and stops after Tim blocks his attack, both arms crossed up in front of him to keep the knife from sinking into his face. His eyes are wide with fear.

“Fuck,” Jason says, letting the pressure from his arms go but keeping the knife where it is, trying to ground himself again.

“It’s okay,” Tim breathes, looking up at him with a certain pain in his eyes that isn’t just physical. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me.”

A bitter laugh escapes him, along with another curse that seems to release his hands from their position- the one in Tim’s collar starts to unclench, and the one holding the knife lowers slowly.

Tim’s still looking at him with those eyes, less scared and more worried, and Jason lets go, unsure of what to do after this particular fuck-up.

His companion decides that for him by stepping closer, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face into Jason’s shoulder. “You’re okay,” He whispers, fingers tight in the back of his shirt.

Jason’s still picking himself up, so he doesn’t move quite yet, just listens to Tim’s reassurances like they can pull him from his own head.

“...feel your heartbeat? Try to feel it. Make it slow down.”

He obeys, even though every part of him is still tense, still wired to snap at the slightest bit of weight added.

“Good. It’s getting slower. You’re doing really good. Take another deep breath for me.”

Jason inhales slowly before letting it out in the same manner, dropping the knife as if it’s burning his hand. The clatter on the floor makes him flinch, listening to the sound ring out and die before he notices another small noise, the steady drip-drip of liquid on the floor.

“You’re bleeding,” He whispers, bringing his hands up to search for the source. It’s Tim’s back again, or rather, his shoulder, and the wound is fresh from the looks of it.

Tim keeps his face tucked against Jason’s shoulder, fingers tight in his shirt like he doesn’t want to let go. It’s terrifying that he doesn’t move, that he thinks Jason’s mental state is more important than fucking _bleeding out_ , but it sends an unexpected thrill to Jason’s heart that makes him hate himself a little more.

“Tim,” He tries again, moving to lift his face up. “You’re bleeding, let me get the kit.”

And wow, that was a mistake. Tim’s eyes are very blue and his lips are parted and the shock of being woken up is making Jason think crazy thoughts. He propels his feet backward, putting distance between them because he can’t do this, not _now_ , when his head isn’t on straight and Tim’s injured. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong- everything.

“I’ll get the kit,” He mumbles, tearing his eyes away to turn around.

The rest of the process is silent and awkward, though Tim carefully hugs him one more time before leaving. He finds a bottle of melatonin and a box of chamomile tea nestled on top of a worn blanket, when he gets home from patrol the next night.

Tim appears again only a few days after that, needing stitches in his thigh. 

He looks guilty when Jason props his leg up into his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“For?” Jason mutters, a little distracted with the wound. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Not like this, anyway.”

That draws something like a smile from the older man. “You’re going to have to be more specific, kid. I can’t read between lines very good.”

“Very well,” Tim corrects, and Jason doesn’t have to look up to see him smirking. It feels better, more normal to be talking again, until Tim says, “Us. I didn’t mean for us to happen like this.”

Jason’s hands still, but he doesn’t dare sneak a glance. Yet. Tim’s already so close, practically in his lap, and if he turned his head to the right-

“Jason,” His voice is barely above a whisper, firm, but somehow tentative.

He turns his head at that, resolve breaking apart faster than he’d built it up. They stare at each other for a long minute, and inch just a bit closer.

Then closer.

It feels good, feels _right_ to kiss Tim. He’s gentle and warm, and Jason closes his eyes, gets lost in the feeling for a while, wondering what the hell he’s doing, what the hell _they’re_ doing.

Tim’s gloved hand comes up to his face when his head tilts, but it’s still slow. Still soft, careful. Like he’s afraid that Jason will run away.

He breaks away after a second, sucking air through his teeth, and they both seem to remember the forgotten task at the same time. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

Jason turns back to his stitching, and Tim’s hand drifts along his face, lingering to brush some stray hair behind his ear. It almost hurts, hurts his heart, if that’s possible. He leans into the touch just a little, allowing it because Tim’s in pain and it must be helping him ignore some of it.

The silence this time is comfortable, if a bit fragile, but Tim still leaves before morning comes.

He gives Jason another kiss, this time pressed to his forehead, before he goes.

 

Jason moves to a different safehouse after that, and Tim doesn’t follow him. He assumes that it’s a message, of sorts, probably meaning _I need time_.

That’s fine with him. Tim’s still trying to wrap his head around the whole thing, how a quick patch job turned into something more, something… scarily delicate. And it had happened so _fast_ , everything changed so _fast_...

He waits a couple weeks, luckily avoiding any serious injuries or those he can’t fix himself. He’d gotten lazy, going to Jason instead of dealing with them on his own. And then, just when he thinks Jason won’t ever show up, he _does_. With bruises around his neck and a bullet in his shoulder.

It’s an ironic twist of fate, Tim supposes, but he can’t exactly complain when Jason reaches back for his hand, needing something to hold onto while the piece of metal comes out.

“I was thinking,”

Tim smiles and returns, “Who would’ve guessed?”

Jason shoots him a glare that’s half-hearted at best, then continues, “I was thinking. We didn’t exactly start off right. Or normal, really. But…” He pauses and bows his head a little, squeezing Tim’s fingers like he’s working up some courage. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tim keeps quiet and continues to work on his shoulder. His heart is doing something in his chest that feels weird and slightly uncomfortable, but he thinks that’s usually how these things go. The bullet comes out a few minutes later, so Jason lets go of his hand to let him stitch and bandage the open wound.

“I wouldn’t, either,” Tim finally says, when he’s almost finished. “I wouldn’t change anything.”

“It might not work,” Jason murmurs, turning to look at him once the medical tape is all down.

“I think it will.”

He studies the younger man’s face as if searching for hesitance. “Guess we’ll just have to find out.”

“Guess so,” Tim responds, offering a smile that matches Jason’s.


End file.
